


Empty Streets (Everybody's Got A Reason Why)

by starrywrite



Category: Video Blogging & YouTube RPF
Genre: Angst, M/M, Mugging, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-28
Updated: 2014-05-28
Packaged: 2018-01-26 22:36:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1705061
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starrywrite/pseuds/starrywrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan’s never had something like this happen to him before. In all of his twenty-two years of life, for the most part, it’s been pretty uneventful. Sure, he’s dealt with dickheads at school and a semi-constant existential crisis, but when it comes down to things that terrify him and keep him up at night, the only thing really on that list is losing Phil. And he hasn’t even had to worry about that at all.</p><p>Except now something bad has actually happened to him, something that he can’t stop thinking about, something that he wants to forget even happened but it’s plagued his mind and he can’t forget now matter how hard he tries.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empty Streets (Everybody's Got A Reason Why)

**Author's Note:**

> hi my name is courtney and i have an angst problem. but you already know that didnt you? op in my defense i was trying to write something cute and fluffy but it just didnt work out for me so i resorted back to angst and i think that says a lot about me tbh. but yeah um overall i think this is pretty okay? the ending is a bit shit/accidentally rushed but i hope you enjoy nevertheless ^_^
> 
> a few lil notes:  
> i don’t know if Tesco is actually in walking distance of the boys’ flat but for fic purposes it is.  
> there’s some hot chocolate made with water (as opposed to being made with milk) bashing so i apologize if i offend anyone.  
> on a serious note, warning for violence bc there’s some violent scenes in this ((poorly written violence but w/e)).  
> tw: PTSD.  
> there’s mentions of bleeding/blood and blood is someone’s trigger in this fic.  
> also warning for nightmare scenes  
> basically i’m just an asshole to Dan… again… womp.

“Bye!” Dan waves to his laptop, saying goodbye to the thousands of viewers that have been watching him for the past hour. “Be… happy… and stuff.” he cringes at his own awkwardness; you’d think that he would know to sign off on his liveshow, a typical Tuesday occurrence for the past year and a half now. “See you guys next week!” he shuts his laptop as it ends, stretches a little because his back aches for sitting in the same position for an hour straight, and he gets up to his feet, trudging out to the living room where Phil’s sitting on the couch with his laptop in his lap and a mug in his free hand. 

“I finished my liveshow,” he drops down on the couch next to him and cuddles next to him for a moment. “Oooh, hot chocolate!” he makes a reach for Phil’s mug, but Phil extends his arm away from him and kisses his forehead.

“Sorry, but this is all mine.” he says and Dan pouts. “I need something to keep me going while I edit this video.” he explains. 

“Make me some then please?” Dan asks, and he gives Phil a wide-eyed puppy dog look that usually gets him to do anything he wants him to do. 

“We’re out of milk,” Phil tells him and Dan grimaces as he says, “I can make you some with water?”

“I’d rather drink my own piss.” Dan replies.

Phil bits his lip to try and stifle a laugh. “It’s not that horrible.” he says. 

“Yeah if you have low standards for quality drinks.” Dan rolls his eyes.

Phil chuckles. “So that’s a ‘no’ on the hot chocolate?” 

“Not if it’s not going to be made right.” Dan sighs. “I want hot chocolate!” he whines with another pout, and he eyes Phil’s mug once more but Phil places it on the end table away from the pair of them. Jerk. 

“I told you I’ll make you some with water-”

“And I told you my standards are now low enough to enjoy hot chocolate made with water.” Dan sighs again. “I guess I’ll go to Tesco for some milk.”

“You want hot chocolate that bad you’re actually going to walk to Tesco for it?” Phil asks him. “Yet, when I cut my hand on a broken coffee mug, you couldn’t be bothered to get out of bed to tend to my bleeding?”

“That was different.” Dan argues. “Blood is gross, milk is a gift from the heavens.”

“It’s a gift from cows.”

“Same thing.” Dan waves his hand dismissively. “Where are my shoes?” 

“I can come with you,” Phil suggests, already going to close his laptop, but Dan stops him.

“Don’t worry about it, you need to finish editing,” he leans over to place a kiss on Phil’s cheek and tells him that he’ll bring him a Kinder egg before he gets up from the couch in search of his shoes. 

“I still can’t believe hot chocolate is worth you walking to Tesco.” Phil calls to him as he disappears down the hall to put his shoes on.

“Okay one: it’s not just hot chocolate; it’s hot chocolate made with _milk_ ,” he explains to Phil. “Which is way better than hot chocolate made with water, which tastes sad. And two: it’s hot chocolate made with milk made by my boyfriend, which is better than all the hot chocolate in the world.”

“You’re adorable.” Phil tells him, and Dan’s pretty sure that he’s smiling right now, which is making him smile too.

“I know!” he says, then says, “I’m leaving.” as he pockets his wallet and heads out, throwing an “I love you!” to Phil over his shoulder as he leaves. 

* * *

One of the perks of going out at half past ten is that not many people are out walking about at this hour - with the exception of Dan, who is on his way home with four pints of milk for his much desired hot chocolate - so there isn’t as much hustle and bustle as there is during the day; nobody to bump into him or guys on bikes driving past him at Lance Armstrong speeds, nearly knocking him to his ass. It’s some weird middle ground of completely hectic normal London life and the calm of the North, and Dan likes it. 

He glances down at his phone, texting Phil that he’s on his way home as he turns a corner, when a pair of hands grab at the collar of his shirt, yanking him into the alleyway he always pases on his way home and shoving him up against the brick wall behind them. Dan barely has time to react before he sees a knife pressed up against his neck, and his blood runs cold. 

Whoever this person is, Dan can’t even tell because he’s got a mask over his face, revealing only his dark eyes hardened into an angry glare. “Give me all your money. Now!” he snaps at Dan, his voice low and gruff, and Dan never thought it would be possible to be terrified by the sound of someone’s voice. 

“I - I don’t have any money.” his voice is shaking terribly, as is the rest of his body; he trembles from head to toe, shaking like a leaf in a storm. “I - I have milk though?” Dan’s liter of milk gets slapped out of his hand, as if the person trying to rob him right now is offended that he would even offer this to him, and it crashes to the floor, spilling open and pooling out everywhere.

“I’m not going to ask you again - give me all your money, now!” Dan has to bite his tongue to resist the urge to point out that he technically is asking again, because this is not the time to be a smart ass - not with a knife pressed up against his neck. The sharp tip is touching his neck and in seconds, his jugular could be punctured.and sliced. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes at the thought.

He nods his head rapidly, and his hand fishes into his pocket, pulling out his wallet and he offers it to his robber. The man grabs it, not removing the neck from where it’s pointed at his neck and Dan just hopes and wishes that whatever is in his wallet - which honestly isn’t much, he wasn’t lying before - is enough to satisfy this guy and he leaves him alone. 

Luck definitely isn’t on Dan’s side tonight, however, because his Oyster card and ID for the BBC aren’t enough to get this guy to leave him alone, and he throws his wallet to the floor, followed by Dan immediately after. His body hits the hard concrete, and it scrapes against his skin as he falls, bruising his body and knocking the wind out of him in the process. Before he can consider getting up, he receives a swift kick to the stomach. He coughs and gags, his arms wrapping around his middle in an attempt to protect himself from any more abuse. 

“Something tells me a BBC presenter would have a little bit more money in his wallet.” the guy snarls at him, then kicks him again, this time kicking at his arms, the heel of his boot breaking his skin. 

“I don’t!” he wheezes. “Please just leave me alone.” 

He gets kicked again, and a fourth time at that, the man using his shoe to roll Dan over so he’s lying on his back, staring up at him. Dan whimpers, in pain and in fear; why is this happening to him? “If I’m not going to get any money out of you,” the man tells him, then reaches down to grasp Dan by the collar of his shirt, pulling him up to his feet. His legs shake as he struggles to keep himself up upright and the man tells him, “I’m going to have some fun with you.” 

Before he can blink, his fist collides with Dan’s face - what he hit, Dan isn’t even sure, but the force alone was enough to knock Dan off his feet. He falls, his bottom lip splitting as he hits the ground and Dan chokes on the blood. He gasps and gags but he doesn’t get a second to catch his breath, because he’s pulled to his feet once again and moments later, Dan’s being thrown into the brick wall again, a pained “oomph!” escaping his lips as his already pained body is furthermore abused, and he can barely hold himself up. He clings to the wall, his face pressed against the cool bricks, offering only seconds of relief as he hopes that this is the worst of it, before he’s grabbed by the back of his hair and thrown into the opposite wall. 

He feels like he’s in a game of Pong; being slammed from one side to the other, and as he’s once again thrown into a wall, he slumps down to the ground in pain. His shoulder feels as if it’s dislocated, though he’s never dislocated his shoulder so he isn’t entirely sure if that even happened to him, but it hurts like a bitch. He isn’t sure if the pain in his shoulder compares to the pain in his stomach as he’s repeatedly kicked, salty tears pooling down his cheeks as he begs for him to stop, pleading with him. He can’t breathe, it hurts too much, and he can’t help but think that he’s going to die here. And he really doesn’t want to die here. 

He lies in a slumped heap on the ground, knees pulled up to his chest as he curls into himself, trying to protect himself in anyway he can. He just wants this to be over. 

He’s yanked up to his feet once again, his robber clearly showing no sympathy for his tears or the fact that he can taste blood in his mouth. “Please.” Dan wheezes again, choking back a sob. “Please.” he can’t say anything else, he can’t think of anything else to say. “Ar - are you gonna k - kill me?” he stutters fearfully. 

Through his tears, he can see the man’s lips curl into vile smile and he says, “I’ll leave that up to you.” before Dan can even question what that means, he gasps, feeling a sharp pain in his stomach. Slowly, he looks down, and he sees the knife from before plunged into his stomach. He’s been stabbed. 

Without another world, the man rips the knife out from his stomach harshly, and turns to walk away, leaving Dan to collapse on the ground, hands to his wound, gasping in pain. He can feel blood seeping through his fingertips. His blood. 

Quiet sobs escape his lips as he lies there, blood - _his blood_ \- pooling around him and he’s shaking violently; because he’s terrified, because he’s in so much pain, he isn’t even sure but he’s trembling and he’s coughing, tasting blood on his lips from being punched. There’s so much blood and it’s everywhere and he can’t breathe, he can’t think, and he really wants Phil more than anything.

He contemplates calling him, he knows he should and he needs to call 999 because he just got fucking stabbed in the stomach, but he isn’t thinking clearly and he’s scared, so scared, and he just wants to get home. He can’t stay here, he can’t stay here lying in his own blood where the nightmarish memories of this evening are haunting him with each passing second. He looks down at his stomach, and for a second he almost throws up because he swears he can see inside of him and nope, he can’t fucking do this. A loud sob tears at his throat as he squeezes his eyes shut and curls tighter into himself, both hands pressed against his wound, hoping he’s slowing down the bleeding slightly. He can feel the blood pooling over his fingertips and he sobs again as he wonders for a second if he’s going to die here, if he’s going to bleed out and the police are going to find his body dry as a bone because he’s bled out all over this alleyway. No, no he can’t die here, he _isn’t_ going to die here.

He rolls over so he’s lying on his back, hands still pressed to his stomach and he closes his eyes, counts to five, and takes a deep breath, forcing himself to sit up, crying out in pain as he does so but he manages. He exhales shakily, choking back more tears as he removes one of his hands from his stab wound, wiping the bloodied and shaking hand on his jeans before he shrugs off his grey hoodie, his arm free of its sleeve. He bunches it around his stomach, gently easing his other hand out of it, and then presses his against his stomach, wincing as he does so but he presses hard, hoping this is doing something to slow down the bleeding. He doesn’t feel light headed, which he takes that as a good sign, so he decides to continue on forward. He sucks in a deep breath, holding it as he forces himself up to his feet, exhaling sharply as he staggers for a second, struggling to hold his balance. 

He leans against the brick wall, closing his eyes and exhaling slowly, small whimpers escaping his lips as he begins walking - or as close to actually walking as he can manage in his state. Without a second thought, he slowly makes his way home.

* * *

The walk from Tesco to his and Phil’s apartment, isn’t long by any means but it takes him what feels like an eternity to get back home. His phone is blowing up in his pocket but he doesn’t check it; he knows it’s Phil, calling, texting. He’s probably worried sick about him, he’s been gone for so long. He doesn’t want Phil to worry about him, he doesn’t want him to see him like this. He knows Phil will freak out and probably rush him to the hospital, and logically speaking he probably _should_ go to the hospital, but as he stumbles up to his floor, he’s sure that the bleeding in his stomach has stopped and aside from some cuts and bruises (and psychological damage), he’s sure he’s fine. 

He pushes their front door open and stumbles inside, breathing heavily yet quietly as he can because their apartment’s dark now so he’s assuming that Phil’s gone to bed now. He manages to sneak inside and he’s nearing the lounge, when he hears, “Jesus, Dan, where have you been?” and he flinches. Fuck. “Do you have any idea what time it is? Or how long you’ve been gone?” Phil continues. “God, I’ve been worried sick!”

“I’m sorry.” Dan says, struggling to keep his voice even. “I - I got held up at Tesco.”

“What could’ve possibly kept you out that long?” he can barely see in the dark, but he hears Phil walking across the room, and he cries out, “No, wait!” as Phil’s flicking on the light switch, their lounge illuminated and Dan can hear an audible gasp escape Phil’s lips.

“Oh my god, _Dan_!” 

“I - I’m okay.” Dan says shakily. “I - oh shit,” he looks down at the floor, and sees droplets of blood falling from his hoodie and soaking into the carpet. “I - I’m sorry, Phil.” he apologizes

“Dan, please.” Phil’s at his side in seconds, gently ushering him to the couch. Dan hisses in pain as he sits down. “What the hell happened?”

“I bled on the carpet-”

“Dan, I don’t care about the carpet, _what happened_?” Phil cuts him off. 

“I - it’s not as bad as it looks,” Dan stammers. “I just - there was this guy and he wanted my money but I didn’t have any money and - god, the milk, he knocked the milk out of my hands and it spilled everywhere and now we don’t have milk-”

“Dan, forget about the milk-”

“And your kinder egg,” Dan’s rambling, blubbering at this point as tears start to roll down his cheeks. His chest rises and falls at top speed as he struggles to speak clearly, to think clearly. But Phil can see he’s panicking right now, he’s damn near hysterical. It’s the fear, he assumes; Dan’s probably never been scared like this before, never been this scared before. He was probably, literally, afraid for this life tonight. And the thought alone just hurts, it hurts Phil so bad. “I - I had it but - but when he knocked the milk out of my hand I dropped it - I’m sorry -”

“Dan, baby, please calm down,” Phil brings his hands up to Dan’s face, gently cupping his cheeks. There’s dried blood caked around his lips and the side of his face is reddish and bruised. “I don’t care about the carpet or the milk or my kinder egg, I just need to know what happened to you. Just tell me what happened, please.”

Dan takes a deep breath. “I - I,” he tries to explain it all to Phil, but as the memories come back to mind, memories that he’d want to black out, he starts shaking. His body feels on fire again and the pain is all too real once more, and there’s blood, so much blood everywhere. “Th - there was this guy,” he stutters as he re-tells the story, trying to focus on talking to Phil and not what happened, not the pain, not the blood. “And - and he wanted my money but I didn’t have any - I _told_ him I didn’t have any, but he tried to take my wallet anyway. And then he - he got mad. And he…” Dan visibly flinches, as if he can feel the knife stabbing him once again and he subconsciously presses his hoodie against his stomach harder. 

Phil’s eyes glance down, as if he’s just noticing all the blood that’s seeped into his hoodie. “Dan…” 

“He - he had a knife.” Dan stammers, and Phil’s eyes widen. “And - and he…” instinctively, Dan presses his hoodie harder against his stomach, and Phil looks down again.

“Dan…” gently, Phil eases his hoodie and hands away from his stomach. Dan is still and apparently shell-shocked, letting it happen as Phil takes a look at his stomach and gasps as he sees the gash. “Oh my god, Dan - were you - oh my _god_.” Phil can’t even comprehend what’s happened to Dan - how did this happen? Dan just left the house to get some milk, and now he’s home and he’s been beaten and he’s bruised and bleeding and there’s a… a… Phil doesn’t even know what’s happened to his stomach - was he stabbed? Phil’s chest constricts at the thought of someone hurting Dan like this, and he feels himself being thrown into a fit of blind rage but he knows he has to stay calm - for Dan’s sake. “Dan,” he starts as calmly as he can manage. “We have to take you to the hospital right now.”

Dan’s eyes go wide. “N - no, I don’t - I’m fine.”

“Baby, you’re bleeding and you’re hurt, you need to get checked out right now, okay?” Phil tells him, and he’s already up to his feet, looking for his shoes and calling for a cab. “Yeah, hi? I need a ride to the hospital - like now, please. As in _now_... Okay, thank you.”

He turns to Dan. “Cab’s on the way,” he tells him, and he goes to say more but he can see the terrified, yet somehow distant, look in his eyes, he kneels down on the floor so he’s eye level with Dan. “Bear? Are you with me?” Dan blinks a few times, tears rolling down his cheeks, and he nods, and Phil reaches out for him, pulling him into his arms.

“I’m all bloody.” Dan mumbles in protest. 

“Shh, I don’t care.” Phil tells him, and that’s all it takes for Dan to melt in his arms, burying his face in the crook of Phil’s neck, and whimpering softly as he cries. Phil rubs his back and kisses the side of his head, whispering to him that it’ll be okay. When he hears a honk from outside, he scoops him up in his arms, apologizing when Dan hisses in pain, and he carries him bridal style outside to the cab.

The cab ride to the hospital is silent, spare for Phil’s constant whispering of soothing words to Dan to try and calm him down. Dan’s curls up in Phil’s lap like a cat, clinging to him tightly, tears rolling down his cheeks. He’s shaking, trembling violently, and Phil isn’t sure if it’s because he’s scared or if something is wrong with him. What if he’s lost too much blood? What if he’s in shock? What if he’s -

Phil doesn’t allow himself to finish that last thought, he can’t bare to think about losing Dan. 

He kisses Dan’s forehead and tells him it’s going to be okay, and he repeats it over and over until the cab pulls to a stop outside of the hospital. Phil pays their driver then wastes no time getting him and Dan out of the cab, and he carries him inside, his legs draped almost lifelessly over his arms and his head nestled against his chest. Dan’s got one hand pressed to his aching stomach, and the other clung tightly to Phil’s shirt. 

“I need a doctor!” Phil says breathlessly as he rushes inside, looking around momentarily before making his way to the front test. “My - my boyfriend - he was mugged tonight and I - I think he was stabbed.” he babbles to the receptionist, who’s already paging a doctor for them. “He - he might’ve lost a lot of blood,” Phil babbles. “I’m not exactly sure, but he’s hurt and he needs help - please, someone has to help him!”

“Just stay calm dear,” she tells him. “We’ve got the best team of doctors here, your boyfriend will be fine.” Phil wonders if she tells that to every hysterical patient who rushes through their doors. 

A doctor and a few nurses appear moments later, two of them pushing a stretcher towards Dan and Phil, instructing Phil to gently lie Dan down on top of it. Dan struggles to lie flat, instinctively pulling his knees up to his chest to help alleviate the pain in his stomach, but his doctor gently encourages him to lie on his back and stretch out his legs so he can look at the severity of his wound. 

His doctor lifts up his shirt. Phil’s not entirely sure what he’s looking for, because he takes a peek at Dan’s stomach and nearly gags because he can kind of see inside of him. There’s dried blood caked around his abdomen, but he’s still bleeding a little and Phil’s terrified right now, “What exactly happened tonight?” his doctor asks the two of them.

“He was attacked walking home from the store,” Phil explains, reaching for Dan’s hand. Dan squeezes his hand tighter than he’s ever held it before, and Phil covers his fist with his other hand, letting him know that he’s here. “Someone tried to get some money off of him, but he didn’t have any and he was stabbed.” Phil can’t read the doctor’s face, and he feels himself break out in a nervous sweat. “Is he going to be okay?”

“We need to stitch him up immediately.” he says. “I can already tell he’s lost too much blood tonight, we need to get him into the OR immediately.”

Dan looks over at Phil, “You’re coming with me, right?” he asks, speaking up for the first time in a while. His voice cracks a little; he sounds so small. 

Phil glances at Dan’s doctor, who says, “We can’t waste anymore time; we need to gets you into the operating room and fix you up right now,” he turns to Phil. “I’m sorry but you can’t come in with him.”

Dan’s eyes widen. “N - no.” he says, his voice shaking. “I - I need him, I need him with him.”

“Dan, it’s fine, I’ll be right here when you get out.” Phil tells him, giving his hand a squeeze before he has to let go as Dan’s stretcher is wheeled away.

“No!” Dan cries, and Phil flinches when he hears the pure terror in Dan’s voice. He reaches out for Phil’s hand again, but a nurse pushes him back down. “No, I need him - I need Phil!” he goes to sit up again, to make an attempt to get off of this stretcher and make his way down the hall to Phil, but he’s pushed back down again. “No! Please, I need Phil!”

Phil stands there, frozen in shock. He’s never seen Dan this terrified before, never seen him react this way. And he wants to do something, anything, but there’s nothing he can do and it’s killing him. Because he’s watching the scene unfold before him, seeing the struggle it is for the doctors and nurses to try and push Dan to the operating room, and he feels terrible as Dan keeps struggling against the nurses’ restraints, trying to get up from the stretcher and run to his boyfriend. He cries, “I need him! I need him!” repeatedly, tears rolling down his cheeks as he cries out for his boyfriend, and Phil feels like he’s being punched in the stomach because Dan needs him and there’s nothing he can do.

* * *

Dan ends up having to get sedated, because he’s far too hysterical, and Phil tries to distract himself by filling out paperwork for Dan and replying to people on twitter to keep his mind off of things. He, thankfully at that, loses track of time after a while, and finally Dan’s doctor is approaching him, telling him that Dan has been stitched up and his stomach is healing but he lost a little too much blood and he has to stay overnight to be monitored - just as a safety precaution. And Phil exhales a heavy sigh of relief because this could’ve been so much worse, but Dan’s going to be okay and that’s all that matters. 

As soon as he gets his room number, Phil’s on his way down the hall to Dan’s room, where he finds him lying in a hospital bed, huddled under a blanket, looking utterly exhausted. Though he seems barely focused on anything, Phil can see that his eyes are red and bloodshot - from crying or exhaustion, Phil isn’t entirely sure - and he can see that is fringe has started to curl, probably from sweating so much throughout the entire evening. Poor baby; Phil feels a pang in his heart. Dan shouldn’t be here, he shouldn’t have had to gone through any of this tonight. But he’s okay. He may be a bit broken right now, but Phil’s going to make sure that he’s back together in one piece in no time. 

When Dan notices Phil lurking in his doorway, the older boy doesn’t hesitate to cross the room and pull up a chair by his bedside, taking his hands in his own and kissing his knuckles. _He’s okay,_ he tells himself. _Dan’s okay._ “Hey, bear.” 

“Hey.” Dan’s voice is small, slightly hoarse, and almost far away sounding, and Phil gives his hand a little squeeze just so he squeezes his back and Phil remembers that he’s actually here.

“You’re going to be okay,” Phil says, just for good measure because he’s never going to get tired of hearing that. “You have to stay overnight, but you’re going to be okay.”

“Will you stay with me?” Dan asks him, glancing up at him, his brown eyes wide. 

“Of course.” Phil says and kisses his knuckles once again. A nurse comes in to give Dan something to help him sleep through the night, and in minutes, Dan is fast asleep. Phil pulls his blanket up over his shoulder, tucking him in a little and making sure he’s comfortable, before kissing his forehead, and taking a seat back by his bedside, not letting go of his hand for the rest of the night.

 _He’s okay,_ he reminds himself one more time as he begins to drift off to sleep. _Dan’s okay._

* * *

Dan’s doctors say that he’s fine the next day, and he gets discharged and after one long and scary night, the boys are heading home, ready to put everything behind them. But it doesn’t take long for both Dan and Phil to realize that he’s far from fine. 

The night he’s discharged from the hospital is the night that his nightmares start. Dan’s always been easily scared, his list of fears varying from insects to the dark to the Blair Witch, but it really doesn’t take much to spook him enough so he finds himself unable to sleep at night. But this is different; Dan’s never had something like this happen to him before. In all of his twenty-two years of life, for the most part, it’s been pretty uneventful. Sure, he’s dealt with dickheads at school and a semi-constant existential crisis, but when it comes down to things that terrify him and keep him up at night, the only thing really on that list is losing Phil. And he hasn't even had to worry about _that_ at all.

Except now something bad has actually happened to him, something that he can’t stop thinking about, something that he wants to forget even happened but it’s plagued his mind and he can’t forget now matter how hard he tries.

It’s kind of sad in a way, because he’s managed to convince himself that he’s fine, that he’s okay now. He’s convinced himself that, as he’s leaving the hospital, he’s leaving that terrible night him and it’s not going to affect him anymore because he’s fine, and he isn’t going to think about it anymore. And Phil believes it too. Phil’s convinced that Dan’s wounds are healing and that means that he’s healing. He’s convinced that because his doctor says that he’s okay, that Dan really is okay.

Maybe they’re both wrong. Maybe Dan isn’t going to be okay.

Dan and Phil get home in the middle of the day, and all in all, it’s a pretty ordinary day for the two of them. Aside from Dan having to apply cream to his now healing stitched up stomach and wrapping himself up in ACE bandages, neither of them even mention the incident. They go about their day-to-day lives, complete with back and forth playful banter and Dan assuming the browsing position (or as close to Dan can get because his stomach hurts too much to properly slouch), and ending with stir fry for dinner and watching anime while cuddling on the couch until they’re both too tired to keep their eyes open. They make their way down the hall to their room (Phil’s room, because Phil has a TV and he washes his sheets weekly, whereas Dan can’t be bothered), and climb into bed together, Phil carefully wrapping his arms around Dan, making sure not to nudge his stomach too much, and for once, it doesn’t take either of them long to drift off to sleep. 

While Phil’s behind him, sleeping soundly, Dan on the other hand finds himself a victim of his mind, the memories of just a few nights ago just playing in his mind and before he can even consider stopping it, it’s starting and he’s back in that alley. He can’t escape, no matter where he runs, the walls are closing in and before he knows it, he’s trapped. Back against brick, he can feel the sweat rolling down the back of his neck as he trembles in fear, his chest heaving as the man in the mask with a knife in hand approaches him. 

He can’t speak; his throat feels like a clenched fist and he can barely breathe. Stuttering gasps escape his lips as he struggles not to panic, but it’s too late; he’s panicking. Because he’s getting close and closer, and Dan can’t stop looking at the knife. He knows that it’s just a simple pocket knife, but the blade looks so much bigger than it actually is.

Before he knows it, his hand reaches out for Dan’s shoulder and he throws Dan to the ground. He brings his hands up to break his fall, but the hard concrete below him still manages to scrape the skin on his face as he skids to a halt. He moans in pain, rolling over onto his back but he barely has a chance to catch his breath before the toe of his mugger’s boot is kicking his stomach at full force. Dan coughs, and he pulls back and kicks him again only seconds later, and he kicks again, and Dan feels like he’s going to throw up. He can’t tell him to stop, he can’t cry out for help. He can’t do anything.

He’s yanked up to his feet once again, his robber clearly showing no sympathy for his tears or the fact that he can taste blood in his mouth. “Please.” Dan wheezes again, choking back a sob. “Please.” he can’t say anything else, he can’t think of anything else to say. “Ar - are you gonna k - kill me?” he stutters fearfully. 

Through his tears, he can see the man’s lips curl into vile smile and he says, “I’ll leave that up to you.” before Dan can even question what that means, he gasps, feeling a sharp pain in his stomach. Slowly, he looks down, and he sees the knife from before plunged into his stomach. He’s been stabbed. Dan looks down at his stomach and feel himself falling to the floor, landing in a pool of his own blood -

Dan wakes up as he falls out of bed, a genuinely terrified scream tearing at his throat; his heart is racing at top speed and he doesn’t even acknowledge the fiery pain in his stomach from landing on his stitches. He’s drenched in sweat and it takes him a few seconds to realize that he’s not back in the alley again, that he’s not lying in his own blood again. Phil’s at his side in seconds, and he stops screaming, but he can’t seem to catch his breath, and Phil holds him close to him, whispering that _it’s okay, it’s okay_ , and Dan just presses his face against the crook of Phil’s neck and starts crying because he knows that he’s not okay.

* * *

It takes half an hour to calm Dan down after his nightmare, and even after he’s stopped shaking and crying, he isn’t entirely calm enough to fall asleep, so Phil puts on a movie they’ve both seen a thousand times and he holds Dan and kisses his head. The two of them lie there for hours, because Dan can’t manage to fall asleep and Phil doesn’t want him awake and alone, especially not after his nightmare. The sun starts to rise when Dan finally feels tired again, and as he’s drifting off to sleep, he hopes that he isn’t going to have a repeat of a night like this. 

They don’t talk about Dan’s nightmare the next day, both of them just silently hope that he won’t have them again tonight. But when Phil starts dozing off on the couch, Dan can feel his stomach knotted with nerves because he knows he’ll have to go to bed soon, and he doesn’t think he wants to. Sleep is supposed to be his escape, but even while he sleeps he’s forced to remember the horrific incident. 

He doesn’t sleep that night because he doesn’t want to. He’s too afraid to, to be honest. He doesn’t want a repeat of last night, so what he does is he lies awake in bed with Phil, and whenever he feels himself starting to drift off, he forces himself up to his feet and makes a pot of coffee, and finally, the sun starts to rise and he’s made it through the night, sans nightmares. Not entirely healthy, but it worked. 

He climbs back into bed so Phil doesn’t suspect anything, but he can’t act like he actually got eight hours of sleep for long because by mid-day, exhaustion has got to him and he goes to lie down on the couch for five minutes and ends up sleeping for five hours. Still no nightmares though, he assumes it’s because he was too tired to even think properly. Again, not entirely healthy, but it worked. 

Dan knows he can’t keep living like this, living his life in fear and afraid to even sleep. He decides that if he’s going to feel better, than he has to start acting like he already feels better. Fake it till you make it, that’s what they say, and that’s what Dan is going to do. One morning, after a miraculous sleep sans nightmares, Dan surprises Phil by waking up early, showering, straightening his hair, putting his earrings in and claiming that he wants to go into town. Phil, who'd grown accustomed to seeing Dan with hobbit hair and clad in his PJs (and tears rolling down his cheeks), almost didn't know how to respond to this but nevertheless, if it was what Dan wanted, he was happy to oblige.

Dan’s fine as they leave the apartment, he’s fine as they take the lift down to the ground floor, he’s fine as they leave their apartment complex, but when they start to walk, he becomes a bit resistant. His steps slow down and it almost as if Phil has to tug him along the pavement to keep him going. It’s only a few seconds later that Dan comes to a halt completely, trembling from head to toe, looking at Phil with wide, fearful eyes. 

“On - on second thought,” Dan stutters and Phil can already see the color draining from his face. “I don't think I want to go into town. Can we go home please?”

“Yeah, of course.” Phil doesn’t know why Dan’s suddenly so afraid, but he doesn’t question him on it; he just turns around and holds his hand as they make their way back inside of their building and head up to their floor. 

Dan doesn’t look at Phil while they’re in the lift, and Phil can’t bear to see him this way, so upset and afraid and feeling guilty about being upset and afraid, and he reaches out for him and pulls him into a hug. “I'm sorry, Phil.” Dan mumbles against his shirt, and Phil hugs him tightly, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m sorry.”

“Shh, don’t be sorry.” Phil tells him. He ignores the ‘ding’ of the elevator, letting them know they’re on their floor, and he just stands there holding Dan. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

Dan sniffles. “I got scared.” he says in a small voice. “When we were walking, I got scared and I don’t-” he’s about to say he doesn’t know why, but he does. Because he can’t stop thinking about the possibility of someone grabbing him while he’s walking and pulling him into another alley and beating the shit out of him again. His mind is poisoned with that fear and it’s worse than any existential crisis that’s ever plagued his thoughts. Because this was real, this was something that happened to, that he lived through, and now it’s something that’s going to be a part of him for… he doesn’t know how long, but he just wants to be fucking normal again. He wants to be okay.

* * * 

Dan and Phil are becoming good at avoiding talking about how there’s genuinely something off with Dan now, because nightmares and avoiding going for walks anywhere because he’s terrified that he’s going to get stabbed (again) isn’t entirely normal and healthy behavior, but Dan doesn’t want to talk about it and Phil doesn’t know how to bring it up so they just don’t do anything. And it’s a really shitty way of trying to deal with it, but that’s how Dan deals with things best: he doesn’t. He’s damn near an expert at avoiding his real feelings and masking what’s really wrong with false happiness and pretending that he’s not tearing himself apart inside. It’s the only way he knows how to deal with anything honestly; he’s never been good at talking - which is a joke in itself because his entire career is based around his ability to speak eloquently. But when it comes to what’s going on inside his mind or what’s making his heart pound faster than it should or what’s keeping him up at night or what’s bringing him to tears when he feels like he can’t cry anymore, those are the things he isn’t good at dealing with. 

And then there’s Phil, who desperately wants to help his boyfriend, especially now because it’s so obvious that Dan is going through something - exactly what it is, Phil has no clue because this isn’t exactly his area of expertise - and all he wants to do is to be able to make it better. But he can’t because he doesn’t know how, and he hates that. He hates not knowing what to do. He hates when Dan’s upset and he can’t bring him back to reality and remind him that there are stars in the sky and lips to kiss and dogs to pet. He hates that Dan went through something traumatizing and he doesn’t know what to do about it. He can’t get Dan to walk anywhere anymore, which is going to end up biting them both in the ass because they have to walk to catch the bus or a cab for work and Dan trembles the second his feet touch pavement. He can’t get Dan to talk about his nightmares, some nights he can’t even get him to stop crying because he’s so scared and Phil can’t make him realize that he doesn’t have to be anymore, at least not while Phil’s holding him. Honestly, he’s never felt more helpless than he has lately, and all he can do is just sit back and hope that somehow, everything fixes itself. 

There’s an old saying that goes, “it has to get worse before it can get better” - or something along those lines, and neither Dan nor Phil realized exactly how true that is. And they’ve found themselves realizing it on days like today. 

It starts off ordinarily enough - watching TV and snuggles on the couch until Dan has to edit a video (because it’s been far too long, as per usual, and the guilt is going to make him eat his weight in comfort food). Phil offers to make him a mug of tea while he works, which Dan gladly accepts.

Phil makes his way to the kitchen, opening their cabinet where they keep all their mugs, and reaches for one, but Phil’s all thumbs today and he manages to drop and break one of the mugs. “Ah!” 

Dan hears a loud his amongst the sound of breaking of glass, and he calls out, “Did you break another mug?” as he hoists himself off of the couch. 

“Good thing we have twenty-six spare ones,” Phil replies and Dan chuckles a little bit. Upon entering the kitchen, he can already see the mess of broken coffee mug pieces as well as Phil holding his hand. “You okay?” he asks him.

“I cut my hand a little,” Phil pouts adorably, and Dan walks over to give him a kiss, when he freezes upon seeing the small sliver of blood along Phil’s palm. 

_Without another world, the man rips the knife out from his stomach harshly, and turns to walk away, leaving Dan to collapse on the ground, hands to his wound, gasping in pain. He can feel blood seeping through his fingertips. His blood._

“Dan?” Phil’s voice breaks into his train of thought, but just barely; his voice sounds like a distant whisper, trying to reach him, to bring him back to reality, but it can’t because Dan can’t stop thinking of the blood on his hand, the way it rolls off his palm and falls to the countertop with a small ‘splat!’ and Dan nearly gags. He can’t stop thinking about the blood seeping through his fingertips as he holds his stomach in pin. His blood. “Dan, love, what’s wrong?”

_Quiet sobs escape his lips as he lies there, blood - his blood - pooling around him and he’s shaking violently; because he’s terrified, because he’s in so much pain, he isn’t even sure but he’s trembling and he’s coughing, tasting blood on his lips from being punched. There’s so much blood and it’s everywhere and he can’t breathe…_

“Hey,” Phil takes him by his shoulders and tries to guide him out of the kitchen. Dan moves shakily and he stumbles, tripping over his feet as Phil gets him out of the kitchen and gently eases him into a chair. “It's okay Dan, it's alright.” Phil tells him, but it's not alright because there's blood on Phil's hand and there's blood on the countertop and there's so much blood everywhere and Dan can't handle it. “Tell me what's wrong,” Phil pleads with him. “Please, just talk to me bear.”

“I'm fine.” Dan gasps, but he's not fine and he doesn't know why. He feels sick to his stomach and as scared as the night he got mugged; his chest is right and it's hard to breathe, he feels like at any second he could have a panic attack and be can't calm down because there's blood on Phil's hand and he can't stop thinking about bleeding all over his fingers. It's almost like he can feel the blood flowing over his hand again, like his stomach is on fire with pain again and he's bleeding profusely, staining his shirt. It's almost like he can taste the blood the blood in his mouth again from the cut on his lip, the bitter, metallic-y taste burning his tongue and choking him. “I - I'm fine.” Dan repeats, but he's not fine. He's not fine at all.

* * *

Phil cleans up his hand, then bandages it so Dan doesn't have to see the cut across his palm, then he goes and cleans up the counter in such a meticulous manner that the entire kitchen is reeking of bleach to the point where it almost hurts to inhale. But Phil doesn't care about any of that; anything it takes to make Dan feel okay again - or at this point, as close to okay as possible.

Dan's lying on the couch with a blanket draped over him because he can't stop shaking, and even though he's so tired he can't fall asleep. He hates this, he hates feeling so afraid, so helpless.

“We should talk,” Phil says, breaking the silence between them. “I think - yeah, we should talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Dan mumbles, but he knows it’s a lie because they have so much to talk about and it’s all about him - but he doesn’t want to talk about any of it. Talking about it means thinking about it and the last thing Dan needs is more reasons to think about what happened. 

“Dan,” Phil reaches for his hand and gives it a little squeeze. “We have so much to talk about.”

Dan swallows thickly. “I know.” he pauses for a moment. “I’m so… scared.” he finally says. “I’m scared of… it feels like I’m scared of everything, and I hate it. I’m afraid to go to sleep at night, I’m afraid to walk anywhere, I’m apparently afraid of blood - I just hate all of this! I hate being so afraid and not being able to do anything about it!”

“It’s okay,” Phil tells him, squeezing his hand again. “We can get through this - you can get through this.”

“It doesn’t feel like I can.” Dan replies sullenly. 

“It’s only been a few days,” Phil points out. “You can’t expect to be over it overnight.” 

“I kind of did though,” Dan admits. “I didn’t think I was going to be _this_ fucked up over it.”

“Well, what happened to you was really scary,” Phil says. “I don’t even want to think about what could’ve happened to you.”

“I don’t want to think about it period.” Dan rolls over so he’s lying on his back and he closes his eyes. He falls silent for a few moments and Phil wonders if he’s drifted off to sleep, when he speaks up, “I don’t know what to do anymore.” 

Phil wants to tell him that he has all the answers, that he knows how to make Dan feel safe again. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t know what to do either.

* * *

“You feeling okay?” Phil murmurs to Dan hours later. He’s joined him on the couch, where they spend the remainder of their day, with Phil’s arms tightly wrapped around Dan, holding him close. The TV’s on, but they’re not really paying attention; the sun’s gone down, but they’ve barely even noticed.

Dan isn’t okay. He _knows_ he isn’t okay, he _knows_ there’s something - for lack of a better term - wrong with him over the past few day. But he knows what Phil means; since the incident in the kitchen, he’s definitely calmed down some, but he still feels on edge, a little anxious even. “Yeah, I’m fine.” he says softly. 

Phil presses his lips to the back of Dan’s neck and gives him a little squeeze. “You’re going to be okay bear,” he whispers to him, and Dan wants to cry because Phil is so sweet and patient and loving and he doesn't know how he got so lucky, but also because he isn’t sure if he’s right.

* * * 

Dan shoots up in bed later that night, hand going up to press against his mouth when he becomes aware of him screaming. His heart pounding so hard and fast he’s sure it’s going to burst right out of his chest and start flying around the room. He struggles to catch his breath for a moment, breathing heavily through his nose, as one hand is still covering his mouth, his free hand grasping Phil’s bed sheets so tightly his knuckles are turning white. It takes him a moment to realize where he’s at, that he’s not in any danger, that he’s safe. 

With a defeated sigh, he closes his eyes and leans back against Phil’s headboard. Another nightmare. 

He hates this, he hates this so much. He can’t take this constant array of nightmares for much longer without losing his mind… maybe he already is. Maybe this is his descent into madness and it’s only going to get worse from here. 

No. He needs to stop thinking like this; he’s going to get better, he’s going to be okay. He is _going_ to be okay. 

He makes an attempt to shift back into his original position in bed when he feels something… wet against his stomach. He freezes up immediately. He didn’t piss the bed did he? Oh god, he hopes he didn’t piss the bed - nevermind the fact that he’s almost twenty three years old but his _boyfriend_ is literally six inches away from him. Dan is literally going to kill himself if he’s pissed the bed. 

He pulls the covers back, slowly and a little hesitantly, and he can see dark liquid pooling around his abdomen, his shirt all but soaked at the bottom and there’s a metallic smell in the air that makes him gag because he knows what it is and he’s almost wishing that he had pissed the bed at this point. 

Dan holds his breath as he reaches for his shirt, aiming for a section of it that isn’t wet, and he pulls it back just slightly and he starts shaking when he sees his stomach is bleeding again. He ripped his stitches and there’s blood everywhere.

He barely makes it to the bathroom in time to throw up, clutching the edges of the toilet with tight, shaky hands as he chokes, gags, and sputters. He’s probably left a trail of blood behind him as he ran to the bathroom, and that thought alone makes him throw up one more time, even though he’s sure there’s nothing left in his stomach. He’s gasping for breath by the time he’s finally stopped throwing up, but he doesn’t move. He sits there frozen and shaking, barely acknowledging the fact that he’s raising his hand to flush the toilet and then close the lid. He’s shaking, his breathing is shallow. He knows he needs to tell Phil so he can go back to the hospital and they can close him up again, but he can’t move, he can’t think, he can’t even breathe. He can feel the blood pooling down his stomach, falling onto his pajama pants and he can’t stop shaking. He just sits there, and hopes that this is all a sick, sick nightmare.

“Dan?” he nearly jumps out of his skin when he hears Phil’s soft voice break the silence. In seconds, Phil’s kneeling by his side, a hand on his back and he gently coaxes Dan back against the wall. “What happened? Are you okay?” Phil feels his forehead, assuming that he’s got a fever, but then he notices the blood stained on Dan’s close, and his breath catches in his throat. “Why are you bleeding?” he asks slowly.

Dan visibly flinches, and Phil rubs his back soothingly, hoping it’ll calm him down, just a bit. “I - I think I tore my stitches.” he says. 

“We’ve got to get you to the hospital, okay?” Phil says, taking charge of the situation immediately, knowing Dan needs medical attention and support from him as well. “Can you stand? Does it hurt?” Dan shakes his head, but he’s still sat directly on the bathroom floor, shaking violently. His forehead is slick with sweat, his fringe going curly, and Phil reaches out to run his fingers through his hair. “It’s alright Dan, it’s okay.” he tells him.

“I can’t.” Dan says, and that’s all he can choke out, and Phil isn’t sure what he’s unable to do but he doesn’t waste time to ask. Instead he just scoops Dan up, bridal style just like the night he came home from his walk to Tesco, and he carries him outside where they hail a cab and head to the hospital.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for Dan to get cleaned up, then re-stitched up. His doctor gives a short lecture on how he needs to be more careful, and Dan’s silent the entire time and Phil wants to bring up everything that Dan’s been going through lately, the nightmares, the hemophobia - everything - but he doesn’t want to just throw Dan under the bus like that, especially if he doesn’t want to talk about it. Phil can’t make him talk about it, he can’t make him deal with it. And tonight he’s realizing that he can’t do much in this situation, other than be there for Dan and just hope for the best. But it’s not enough, he knows it’s not enough. 

* * *

Days turn to weeks and Dan’s stitches have dissolved but he still isn’t sure if he’s actually okay. He wants to believe he is, but there’s a part of him that’s convinced that he’s going to be this way forever, that he doesn’t know how to be okay or how to be not afraid anymore. 

Phil keeps telling him that he is going to be okay, that it’s just going to take time, that it isn’t going to happen overnight, but fuck, it’s been weeks and Dan still has nightmares, he still flinches at the sight of blood, he still forgets how to breathe when Phil tries to convince him to go for a walk. He doesn’t know what to do anymore; it’s been weeks and nothing’s changed and he doesn’t think he believes Phil anymore.

One morning, Phil manages to cut his hand in three places while trying to make a bowl of cereal, and Dan still doesn’t understand how that happened - like what the fuck Phil, it’s _cereal_ , what were you doing, juggling the box and your bowl? But Phil’s hand is bleeding and Dan’s shaking because he can’t unsee the blood flowing through Phil’s fingers and he can’t stop thinking about his blood flowing through his fingers - but Phil needs help (let’s face it, a _lot_ of help sometimes but that’s beside the point) so he holds his breath and closes his eyes and gives him some bandages. Okay, so maybe he throws the box in his direction then runs out of the kitchen to take a few deep breaths.

Phil comes out moments later, hand bandaged up, and he hugs Dan tightly and whispers, “I’m so proud of you.” in his ear. And Dan dwells on his for a moment, and yeah, he thinks he’s a little proud of himself too. 

Because it’s not much, but it’s a start.

* * *

After that, everything goes by mostly uneventful. Dan’s nightmares have lessened significantly, and while he still has them from time to time, it’s not on a daily basis like they used to occur, and for that he is truly thankful. He’s never appreciated a good night’s sleep more than he has now. 

He’s happier now, even Phil notices it. The color is coming back to his cheeks and he looks less like a panda with the bags under his eyes starting to disappear. He smiles more, laughs more. And Phil sometimes feels like his heart is going to burst because Dan isn’t a scared little boy anymore; he’s Dan again. He’s okay. 

Within the next few weeks, which slowly turns into a few months, they find themselves running out of groceries and living off of Chinese take out and Dominos, and Dan and Phil both agree that if they don’t die from heart failure from poisoning their arteries so much they’re both going to gain a hundred pounds at this rate. And naturally, they go to their only source of food income: Tesco.

Phil offers to walk, seeing as they only need a few things to get them through the rest of the week before they call and have everything else delivered to their flat. He’s putting his shoes on, when he sees Dan standing before him, shoes on, coat on, and a nervous smile on his face. “I’ll - I’ll go with you.” he offers.

“Are you sure?” Phil asks slowly. “You don’t have to; I don’t mind going alone.”

Dan shakes his head. “No, no, I want to go with you.” he insists. Phil stands there, quite honestly, shocked, and Dan jokes, “Well lets go then before I change my mind.” 

Phil takes his hand and just like last time, Dan’s fine as they leave the apartment, he’s fine as they take the lift down to the ground floor, he’s fine as they leave their apartment complex. When they exit the building, the sun is shining high in the sky and people are making their way around, and Dan’s as tense as it gets, but he keeps walking forward. He’s got a tight lock on Phil’s hand, and Phil is almost positive that his fingers are getting very little circulation, but he doesn’t care because this is the first time they haven’t had to take a cab or the train or the bus to get somewhere, this is the first time in months that Dan’s actually walking with him somewhere. And Phil can’t stop smiling and kissing Dan’s hand and telling him how proud he is. And Dan’s blushing madly and telling him it’s not a big deal, but it is. 

It may not be much and Dan may not be okay yet, but it’s a start.


End file.
